After Trapped: Time to Recalculate
by ficscribbler
Summary: How do Roxton and Marguerite deal with his angry words that she can never forget, spoken while they were 'Trapped?


**After 'Trapped': Time to Recalculate, V.2**

Summary: _How do Roxton and Marguerite deal with his angry words that she can never forget, spoken while they were 'Trapped'?_

Disclaimer: _The Lost World does not belong to me. *sigh* It belongs to New Line Television, the Over the Hill Gang, et al, …_

Author's Note: _This is a continuation of the third season's 21__st__ episode, "Trapped"._

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Challenger was still somewhat disoriented from being tumbled about by the dual explosions that day, and the younger members of the treehouse family adjusted their pace through the jungle to accommodate him.

Roxton and Marguerite were also still a little groggy, after being exposed to the coal gas and the decreasing supply of oxygen in the cave, so Veronica took point and Finn brought up the rear as they made their way home.

Finn regaled the couple ahead of her with a humorous account of Challenger's behavior since she and Veronica had stumbled across the professor in his amnesia-induced wanderings. Poor George went nearly as red as his hair as Finn dryly recounted the scientist asking if the two blonde plateau girls were his wives before he'd finally decided they were his daughters instead.

John and Marguerite were hard pressed not to collapse in laughter at Finn's wry recitation of George's egotistical assumptions about himself before his memory had returned. The hunter teased, "Really, George, you can't be content with being the world's greatest scientist, you have to be a writer, a singer, a dancer, an author, and the world's greatest fisherman, too?!"

A smile played about Veronica's lips, too, as she listened to George's embarrassed, stammering, self-conscious explanations in defense of his reasoning about his possible occupations, each one "perfectly logical" to his way of thinking, even now that he had his memory again.

The good natured teasing continued all the way back to the treehouse, where Veronica thoroughly checked George's two goose-egg-sized bumps while Roxton and Marguerite prepared a light dinner and Finn set the table. Once the younger quartet made sure that George had eaten an acceptable amount of fruit and vegetables, Veronica and Finn convinced their beloved scientist that he should allow his "daughters" to escort him to bed. He only permitted them to persuade him because they promised if he rested they'd stop fussing at him so he could get back to work again.

Veronica and Finn supported him down to his bedchamber, with Challenger protesting all the way that he really felt just fine. But despite his posturing, he enjoyed their affectionate oversight, even allowing the young blondes to tuck him in once he'd donned his nightshirt. The two pretty blondes made a big production of ensuring that he was completely comfortable, energetically fluffing his pillows, supplying him with a glass of water at his bedside, and adjusting the window covering to allow just enough breeze to keep the air in his chamber freshened without chilling him.

Somewhat to his own bemusement, he found that he rather liking being "henpecked" like this. It made him realize how much he missed Jessie, his longsuffering wife. He nodded off while the girls were dimming his lantern, thinking about how much Jessie would like their "children" here on the plateau.

Only when Veronica and Finn saw that Challenger was safely asleep did they return to the upper level of the treehouse and turn their attention to Roxton and Marguerite, who were already half finished with cleaning up after the meal. The girls joined the older pair in the kitchen. "So let's have it," Finn demanded as she bounced over to the counter and picked up a dishtowel. "You've hardly said a word about your adventures today. What were you doing in that cave in the first place? See something shiny?" She looked expectantly to the slim lady who so loved gems.

"Yeah, how did you end up trapped below ground?" Veronica asked, equally curious as she joined Finn at the chore of drying the dishes while Marguerite washed and Roxton rinsed. She also looked to the dark-haired woman for the details.

Marguerite, however, demurred. "It was Roxton who found the cave this time, and he was the one who got us out. It's his story to tell."

John was a little surprised that his lady hadn't simply put their friends off and changed the topic. Unlike her housemates, the reticent former triple agent rarely chose to speak of her "adventures" in casual conversation, and given the very personal questions raised by their experiences today, he hadn't expected her to want anything about this day aired in a group setting. He raised one brow at her; was she really alright with having him narrate their activities, or was she simply too tired to deal with squashing the other ladies' interest?

She graced him with a brief smile, and then turned her attention back to the gradually decreasing pile of dirty dishes, clearly leaving the handling of the tale entirely in his hands. He wasn't sure if it was because she trusted him, because she was testing his promise to keep her newest secrets, or if she was simply more exhausted than she was revealing. Whatever her reasons, he wouldn't fail her in handling their comrades' request for information. It only took the blink of an eye to decide how to proceed. Veronica might allow them to avoid details, but Finn would keep at them both until her curiosity was satisfied, so the best course of action was to take this opportunity to answer her questions without revealing anything Marguerite might dislike. Lord John Roxton wasn't reputed to be one of the smoothest talkers in Parliament for nothing. It was only with Marguerite that he seemed to stumble into conversational pitfalls so often.

Their listeners never suspected the existence of the tomb of the Druid woman, and he didn't even hint at the argument that had erupted between himself and Marguerite. It was sufficiently spectacular to stick to the bare facts of the cave-in and their efforts to escape. There was enough danger, adventure and drama in that part of the day to keep both younger women totally absorbed in the story. Roxton's account startled them, for even though he played it down, it was clear that being trapped in the cave had been a near-death experience for the couple. The repeated cave-ins, the coal gas seeping into the cavern to poison the limited oxygen, the blockage in the only escape route…

Marguerite contributed little, refraining from commenting most of the time. But she did speak up when he glossed over his own persistence and creativity; she made it clear to the younger women that it was John who had come up with the ideas that had saved their lives. "When that new crack started spewing more coal gas, John knew what to do right away." And she told the spell-bound younger members of the "family" how he'd gathered and packed the mud, even using his precious hat to tote the needed materials from the water's edge to the cavern walls. "The gas was knocking me right out, but Roxton stayed alert and watched for additional cracks. He kept gathering mud from around a water pit to mend the cracks, which limited the incoming gas and kept the air breathable longer. Without his persistence, we wouldn't have survived. He's also the one who realized an explosion could blast loose the rocks that blocked the passage to the surface, and he knew what to do to protect us from the fireball and the debris."

Marguerite's generous praise pleased the handsome lord, and when their audience requested more detail he explained about the plan that had finally freed them from the cave. The resulting admiration of the other two women had him flushing as he shrugged off their accolades. He patiently answered the rest of Veronica and Finn's questions and then listened as they began to discuss their own day, but he was distracted by the way the heiress was avoiding his eyes. She was no longer chuckling along with the others at the tales of the day. The closer they came to finishing with the cleanup, the quieter and more distracted his lady grew.

Focused on her, John didn't respond when Finn related how she and Veronica had found arrows drawn on the treehouse's floor, and the new memories the discovery had prompted. Finn chattered on, laughing as she explained about the childhood game, but his silence alerted the older blonde to his distraction. She followed his darkening eyes toward Marguerite's slowing movements and winced as she, too, saw that the older woman was withdrawing from them. Wisely, Veronica surmised that more must have happened down in that cave than either John or Marguerite had admitted.

It startled Finn when Marguerite absently left the last dish in the wash basin and walked away, but neither of her long-time companions were caught off guard by the subdued woman's sudden retreat into the balcony's dusky twilight.

The hunter wasted no time in setting aside the semi-rinsed plate that had been in his hand. He followed Marguerite, oblivious to the interest their actions had generated in the treehouse's youngest resident.

Veronica couldn't help but grin at the way Finn craned her neck in an attempt to watch the couple; that curiosity was going to get the girl into big trouble with Marguerite one of these days. The older blonde picked up the neglected dish and finished rinsing it before she handed it to Finn to dry. Finn accepted it automatically, straining to see through the fading light as Roxton reached Marguerite's side. "What do you think's going on, Vee?" she asked curiously.

"I don't know, but we should give them some privacy," Veronica decided, having no trouble correctly recognizing the familiar defensive posture of the mysterious dark haired beauty as the tall hunter bent his head to speak to her. She quickly washed the last plate, rinsed it, and drained the wash basin water as Finn dried and shelved the last few items. It didn't look like Roxton was having much luck out there, and Veronica knew an audience certainly wouldn't help his cause. "Come on, we're done here," she declared, and started out of the kitchen, heading toward the stairs. She paused and turned back a few feet away when Finn didn't follow her lead. "Finn!"

"What?"

"Time for bed," Veronica said firmly to the younger girl.

"What, now? I'm not tired," replied the girl from the future, eyes still on the couple on the balcony.

Veronica sighed. During her childhood she had often wished for sisters, but at the moment she was having trouble remembering why. First she got Marguerite with all her moodiness, and now she had this . . . pesky, incredibly naïve younger bundle of energy and curiosity to deal with!

"Finn, it's been a long day. You did all that flipping and tumbling, helped with George's experiment, took a nice long hike in the jungle, and now it's getting late. You _must _be tired," Veronica reasoned, taking several steps back toward the younger woman.

"Nope. Not tired," Finn shrugged, stretching over the counter in an effort to get a better view of the couple on the balcony.

Realizing reasonable suggestions weren't going to be sufficient motivation to draw Finn away from the potential spectacle, Veronica frowned and squared her shoulders. "Leave them alone," she ordered briskly, her crisp, no-nonsense tone succeeding in gaining Finn's full attention at last.

Turning with a puzzled frown, her sky blue eyes met Veronica's determined ones in surprise. "What's the big deal? I'm not bothering them, Vee. I just want to see what they do next. They're fun to watch. Maybe they're going to have another fight!" she added eagerly, glancing back over her shoulder toward the couple on the balcony.

Worried about that very possibility, Veronica lost patience. "Go to bed," she hissed, "Or I'm going to break your crossbow into tiny little pieces and bury every one of them!"

Finn's head swung back to her, eyes wide with shock. The huntress respected weapons too highly to make idle threats about such things. She meant it! She seriously wanted Finn to leave Lord Roxton and Marguerite to themselves! "Oh come on! What's the big deal?!" she protested again.

Veronica's blue eyed chilled, one hand dropped to the hilt of her knife and the other fisted on her left hip. "Whatever's happening is none of our business, and it's not meant to serve as our entertainment. They have a right to their privacy. We can call it a night _now_… or I can knock some sense into your head and then snap your crossbow into pieces."

The young lady from the future hadn't lived in the treehouse for long, but it had been enough time to know that even Marguerite heeded that tone of Veronica's. "Spoil sport!" she muttered, but didn't dare disobey the irate jungle beauty's mandate. Tempting as it was to see if she could best her friend in another stand-up fight, Finn's cross bow was like her right arm, and she didn't want to risk losing it to Vee's wrath over a mere chance that Roxton and Marguerite would have another interesting quarrel.

Finn sighed, resigned, and walked out of the kitchen. As she slowly approached the other woman, it occurred to her that given Marguerite's volatility, there would doubtless always be another chance to watch the couple battle it out. Veronica was still waiting pointedly, so Finn smothered the grin of anticipation prompted by her thoughts, and meekly preceded her down the stairs.

Neither John nor Marguerite noticed the by-play inside the treehouse.

The dark-haired woman hadn't responded to his question about what was wrong; she'd refused to even glance over at him when he first followed her to the balcony. Her arms were wrapped around herself, and she was as tense as he'd ever seen her as she stared out into the jungle around their treehouse home. He hesitated beside her, knowing his next words or actions had to be the right ones lest they end up in a battle royale. There were several possibilities to consider.

Was she mad about something? John searched his memory of the walk home, and his narrative of their day's misadventure. Had he said or done something that could've upset his lady? He didn't think so, though he reviewed everything carefully once more just to be absolutely certain. Had he let something slip, something that he shouldn't have while telling their story to their friends? No . . . it couldn't be that, either. He'd been quite careful.

He finally leaned forward against the rail beside her and turned his head to study her profile.

Although she didn't move away when he shifted closer to her, she still refused to look at him. Her lovely mouth was tightly compressed, turned down a bit at the corners, and her green eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

No, he thought with a pang, she wasn't angry. Marguerite was grieving, holding back something painful to her. She'd come out here to conceal some overwhelming emotion from the others yet again.

Well, not this time. There wasn't any reason for her to struggle alone with the heartaches and injustices inflicted on her, not now that he had a right to do something about it – and certainly not when he intuitively knew that he was the cause. "Marguerite," he whispered sadly, "It's what I said, isn't it?"

Yes, she remembered all-too-clearly the angry tirade he'd spewed out in that cave. She swallowed hard, cast him a fleeting look – barely long enough for her to glimpse the pained regret in his own eyes – and then she quickly faced the jungle again. He didn't expect her to answer him, but he was sure he was right. She'd told him, after he'd calmed down back in the cave, that she'd never forget the things he'd said, but beyond that lone comment they'd avoided discussing his outburst. He knew he'd hurt her – Lord, but he'd never forget the wounded expression on her beautiful face and the way she'd flinched away from him when he'd ranted at her so fiercely and unfairly!

If she refused to talk about it now, he'd have to push her. He wasn't looking forward to ending this strenuous, but amazingly wonderful day by forcing a conversation on his weary lady. It seemed cruel to put her through it after the day they'd had, but this needed to be dealt with, the sooner the better.

Just as he was mentally rehearsing what he needed to say, Marguerite moistened her lips and inhaled a slightly unsteady breath. Roxton suppressed a sigh of pleased relief and waited for what would come, his heart leaping. Despite his culpability, she was willing to talk! But his thrilled excitement at her willingness to open up to him turned to consternation at her words.

"You were right," she told him huskily with a slow nod to emphasize her admission. She continued, unseeing gaze still fixed on the darkening jungle beyond the treehouse. "You _have_ put up with everything I've thrown at you. I _have_ been full of contradictions, deceptions, mixed signals, and . . . and secrets. But you've been faithful to me, Lord Roxton, in spite of everything I've put you through, just as you said today. You were also right that I've taken everything you've given to me, and haven't given anything back - "

"Whoa! Hold it right there, my dear," John interrupted, placing a firm hand on each of her shoulders and turning her to face him. He couldn't let this go unchallenged. He gently tilted her chin up, making her meet his concerned green eyes. "I was angry. You know I didn't really mean all of that." So much pain and regret in her expressive face, her usual mask torn away by her ravaged emotions… He marveled that she had the self-control to keep those glistening tears from falling.

"You said you _did _mean it!" Marguerite whispered forlornly. "People often blurt out what they truly mean when they're angry. You can't deny it. You know what you said about me is the truth, John. It's the reason I'm able to deal so well with Tribune and his kind - like a lizard, I'm c-cold… and empty…"

John winced at her choked words. "No, you're not," he denied sharply. "You're nothing like Tribune and his people. You're just as I've said from the very beginning. Don't you remember what I told you the very first night we arrived at this treehouse? I said you were a woman of fire and steel, remember? Fire isn't cold," he reasoned with her earnestly. "And while it's true that sometimes people say what they really mean when they're angry, it's equally true that people also say things they don't mean at all. Besides, if you're going to quote my intemperate words today, you must also remember what else I said while we were trapped down there. Remember the things I said when I _wasn't_ angry, when I wasn't striking out in frustration. Remember the words I _did_ mean. I told you I've seen your anger and your sadness and your laughter, amongst other things, didn't I?"

She sniffed and swallowed hard, desperately wanting to believe him, but so afraid… He could see it, could feel it in her trembling body. So he went on, tenderly, earnestly, hoping and praying that his words now would be felt as keenly as his earlier, harsher words had been. "You aren't empty or cold, Marguerite. I've always known that, despite your pretence to the contrary. I was just so bloody angry at not being able to get us out of there that I stupidly lashed out at you, saying things I knew would hurt you. I didn't mean those things at all, I _swear_ it. The truth is that you're one of the warmest, most caring, tender-hearted women I've ever met."

He caressed her cheek gently, anxiously watching to see if his words eased her grief, but the sad tears still shimmered in her green-gray eyes. The hurt of his words had gone deep, confirming her fears about herself. With bitter self-recrimination he realized she'd need much more reassurance than a few paltry sentences, and thanks to his idiocy in losing his temper as he had, it was vital that he be the one who supplied her with a balanced view to counteract the fears that haunted her. So he continued, "You must know that I also didn't mean that rot about you taking from me and never giving anything back. That, once again, was me striking out in anger, just spouting things I've long known weren't really true, not meaning it, just venting my impotence at the situation. Our relationship has never been one sided, Marguerite. Over these last years you've given me a great deal in response to my growing love for you."

The slender shoulders beneath his gentle hands shuddered, and his weary lady wrinkled her nose and jeered with lip curled in self-disgust, "Oh yes, I've rewarded your love with such marvelous behavior! I've called you names, endangered your life, led you on and then walked away more times than I can even remember -"

Roxton cut off her flow of sarcastic words with a gentle finger on her lips and took up the list of what Marguerite had given to him. "You defended my shooting my own brother as accidental, stood up for me when I was facing Rice, believed in me and trusted me with your life more times than I can count - including today!" Her suitor smiled tenderly down at her and continued so fervently that there was no way to doubt his sincerity. "You've saved my life at least a dozen times, kept me company on late night watches, brightened my days with your smiles - kept me on my toes with your schemes and games, and made me angry enough sometimes to give me just the adrenaline push I needed to overcome the odds." He stroked her cheek again, lovingly. "You've allowed me see the real you over and over, Marguerite, whether you did it consciously or not. I think that's where the mixed signals have come in."

Her brow furrowed in puzzlement, obviously not following his reasoning there.

He elaborated, "In the cave, you said you have no emotions, just calculated responses and - what was it? Oh yes, 'poor imitations of feelings you once knew how to express'. I believe that's how you put it." It was exactly what she'd said; the words were seared into his soul; remembering made him flinch inwardly at the picture of her life as it must have been in order for her to say such a thing about herself, to have to live that way for so long in order to survive alone. It was probably one of the most revealing things she'd ever inadvertently admitted about herself, and he'd understood so much at that moment that his heart had almost broken for her. It was breaking again, now, as he studied the confusion and fear in the emerald gaze that still glistened with tears she refused to allow. "Despite what you said, I've seen your true feelings, Marguerite. You may not be quite sure what to do about it, but you _do_ still have genuine emotions."

Marguerite's lip curled again, her denial obvious. He quickly cut her off. "No, my darling, you truly do. We've all seen how much you care about us. You've shown tenderness for Summerlee, affection for Veronica, respect for Challenger, worry over Ned's absence, patience with Finn… And you've shown compassion for many others here on the plateau, not to mention the love you've demonstrated for me since long before you said the words to me today. All of those emotions are gifts, Marguerite, gifts you've given to each one of us, given when the _real_ you managed to sneak past those calculated responses of yours, the ones you've cultivated over the years in order to protect yourself and to survive. Oh, my dear, you definitely have genuine emotions, not only pretense."

He had her full attention now, and the sheen of tears was lessening as she considered his words. She studied his open expression as he spoke, drinking it all in and alertly processing his assertion. Roxton kissed her cheek gently and smiled down into her now-wistful face. "Do you remember what else I told you today in that cave?" he asked softly, "About deserving better than you allow yourself?"

Marguerite moistened her lips once more, a soft light of wonder appearing in her eyes as she hesitantly nodded; she remembered, and was grateful for his astonishing words, although she couldn't accept them as valid.

"It was the truth, Marguerite. You're a better person than you let yourself believe, you know." He smiled down at her, his eyes perfectly sincere as he held her gaze. "You really do deserve much more than you allow yourself to have, as I told you." He decided that it was the right time to transition to an idea he'd been mulling over while she slept in the cavern this afternoon. Speaking more firmly, he proceeded, "So here's what I propose we should do about this whole suppressed-emotions habit of yours."

He drew her into his arms, looping them about her slender waist and leaning back against the rail, pleased that she accepted the embrace and that she still listened, albeit a little warily, her head tilted up to watch his face as he spoke. He chose his words carefully. "You're quite right that you have these so-called 'calculated responses', cultivated out of necessity during the past. But you're not a triple agent any more, or an international jewel thief wanted on five continents, -"

"Technically," she felt compelled to point out dryly, "I believe there's probably quite a healthy contingent that would disagree about whether I'm still wanted on at least a couple of those continents."

John paused, searching her green-gray eyes. She wasn't prevaricating. She was serious. So he nodded gravely. "We can deal with, er … healthy contingents… some other time, my dear. It's you, and the here and now that we're dealing with at the moment. And the point I'm making is that you're no longer alone in your struggle to survive. You have Challenger, Veronica, Ned, Finn, and most especially _me._ You don't need to protect yourself with those carefully calculated responses of yours ever again, not when you have so many of us who love you. So…" he grinned down at her once more, boyishly this time, noting with satisfaction that her green-gray eyes, while doubtful, were no longer tear-filled. "I propose that we start working on recalculating those responses. You trained yourself, over time, to hide your emotions away. Now we need to retrain your reactions and help you stop suppressing those emotions… the ones that are _aching_ for release," he risked teasing just a bit, and was rewarded by the twinkle that glittered in reply. "Then you can keep on telling me you love me, without the 'buts' that make up the mixed signals. What do you say, my dear? Shall we try it?"

The gleam of amusement faded as Marguerite regarded him uncertainly – with doubt of John as well as of herself. He'd said he was done with her, finished, that he wouldn't wait any more for her. A task like this one he was proposing was bound to mean a lot of waiting on his part, and there would be far too many disappointments when she reacted inappropriately. How long before his patience with her was exhausted? "Retraining such ingrained habits could take a really long time, John," she pointed out, attempting to assume a light and careless tone, but not entirely succeeding in masking her worry. "I've spent most of my life learning those calculated responses. I'm bound to forget and let you down, over and over."

He understood what she left unsaid. "You're more than worth as long as it takes," he assured her. He saw the flash of pain which she automatically suppressed. Her gaze abruptly skittered away from his, and he knew she was recalling how he'd told her, during that cursed harangue in the cave, that she wasn't worth his effort. Venting his temper on her today, telling her that he was giving up on her and that they were through, had done incredible harm – especially coming so soon after the furious tongue-lashing he'd given her when she'd been forced into revelations about her past during the situation with the Ouroboros.

Today he'd caused major damage to her fragile hopes. Marguerite had never fully believed he could truly love her, and it was going to take a very long time and a lot of experience to overcome the insecurity he'd only reinforced with his rash outbursts, both during the confrontation with Callum and while they were trapped in the cave. Marguerite's past experience made it far easier for her to believe he'd fully meant those negative things than for her to convince herself it had only been his fear and worry talking.

"Marguerite," he said softly, his finger beneath her chin drawing her eyes to him again. "Calculated response moment. Don't shut me out. Don't keep what you're feeling all locked up inside. Let's work through this together. Don't let yourself push the emotions away as if it didn't happen or didn't matter, or as if I didn't owe you an apology," he coaxed. "Didn't I let you down when I said those things to you today, in my anger? Weren't you disappointed and hurt?"

"Yes," she admitted huskily, swallowing hard. "But I deserved it. I was making everything harder for you instead of helping."

He couldn't help grinning at her candid assessment. "Maybe you were being a little difficult, but that's beside the point." He gave her a quick hug for her honesty, and then continued. "You didn't get mad back. You didn't tell me off. You just withdrew from me. Later, when I said I was sorry I lost my temper, and even just now when you remembered how much my words had hurt you, you didn't tell me so – and just like when we were still trapped in that cave, you would've avoided discussing it with me now. You tucked it all inside yourself, trying to handle the hurt on your own. But you're not Parsifal any longer; your life doesn't depend on not saying the wrong thing, and you're not in this all alone with no one you can trust. You don't have to respond like that any longer."

Marguerite thoughtfully studied his handsome face, not entirely sure what he was getting at. After all, she'd certainly made it plain many times in the last three years that she had a temper. She was quite capable of venting her wrath and making the others pay if she wasn't happy about something. So John couldn't mean that he simply wanted her to get mad and yell back. She looked for verbal clues in what he was telling her; "together", he'd said… "discussing it" with him… Slowly, she surmised, "You want me to - to _talk_ to you? About my feelings?"

"Exactly," he nodded enthusiastically, pleased that she'd grasped his point.

Skeptically, she asked, "How will talking about it change anything?"

He thought of all the times she'd listened to him talk about his feelings, and the difference it had made to have her on his side. As early in their relationship as the very first few months, when he'd lost his vampirish sense of oneness with the world around them, she'd been a cathartic ear to his troubled thoughts. She'd been there for him time and time again: after Osric restored his life, when he'd confessed his fear of not living his life, countless times when he'd agonized over his brother William's death, and often when he felt he'd failed his duties as the protector of this "family" here in the lost world, as when Summerlee was lost to them… But could she relate to any of that? No, he needed to find something she could understand from her own personal experience. She kept her troubles to herself so much -

Then he realized he knew the perfect example.

Roxton rubbed her back gently and asked softly, "Do you remember when you leaned on my shoulder and held my arm today in the cave, and reached for my hand?" She'd been trembling so badly, he'd known she was horribly afraid he would reject her despite his apology and his declaration that he'd give his last breath for her. But she'd reached out to him, her need for contact with him, for his comfort, stronger than her habitual self-sufficiency. "Didn't it make a difference when I held your hand?"

Marguerite blushed. "You know it did," she whispered. When he'd squeezed her hand in response to her tentative gesture, his fingers curling around hers so securely, it had meant the world to her, easing her fear and loneliness.

"But we were still trapped with no way of escape," he pointed out with a gleam in his eye that told her he was making another point. "Nothing had changed."

"_Every_thing was changed -" she started to retort, confused by his denial of how special that moment had been, then stopped. "Oh, I see!" She'd still been frightened, confused, and hurting. But she'd been immeasurably comforted simply because she was no longer facing things alone. And there had been hope again because John was gripping her hand in return, not rejecting her.

"Right," her beau nodded wisely. "So when these little moments occur and I see you responding in the old way, I propose that instead of letting you tuck those emotions away into some dark corner so you can shoulder all your troubles alone, I should point it out to you. Then we can talk it through together, like we're doing right now. If we do this, it'll help you realize when you're behaving like yesterday's solitary Parsifal instead of today's beloved Marguerite, and we can work on changing the responses you've built up over the years to survive the war and life alone as the Baroness, the Vienna Black Widow, the lovely Miss Smith, and the mysterious Miss Krux."

She smiled up at him, oddly reassured about the validity of this suggestion by his familiar crooked grin and his teasing references to her various identities.

"What do you say? Are you willing to try?" he pressed expectantly for an answer.

It was a more-than-generous offer from this gentle, strong, patient, forceful man.

Marguerite lifted a trembling hand to rest on his bristled cheek where the dark growth of his unshaven face turned to smooth firmness of sun-bronzed skin. How she adored the contrasts of this man! His love, so nearly lost today along with their lives, was a precious thing, a treasure unlike anything she'd ever known or experienced before. He insisted on believing in her. Lord John Richard Roxton simply did not know when to quit!

He hadn't quit today while they'd been trapped in that tomb. Even when logic had dictated that there was no hope, when he'd already tried everything humanly possible . . . John had never given up, never stopped trying to find another way. And John wasn't going to give up on Marguerite. Not now, maybe not ever!

Thank God!

John was willing to keep her secrets safe, and to wait for her to be comfortable with revealing her past to him. More than that, he was willing to talk her through the confusing morass of emotions that so often threatened to overwhelm her as she grew to care more and more for these explorers who were her long-sought family.

What had she ever done to be blessed with such generous love from this incredible man?

How could anyone resist such an inconceivable love? Why would anyone in their right mind even waste time with hesitation when offered such a gift?!

Marguerite drew in a slow, tremulous breath. "I'll try," she promised solemnly. "You deserve much better than what I am, Lord Roxton, and since you're determined to stick with me, then I'll do anything you ask of me." Her green-gray eyes met his, filled with determination to try, if not with confidence in her success.

"That's my girl," he beamed, but added seriously, "One of these days, Marguerite, you're going to find out that you're not the damned person you believe yourself to be. You're one very special lady, and we're going to rediscover her, one step at a time. Okay?"

"If _you_ say so, Lord Roxton," she replied airily, though his belief in her made her blush again, "then who am I to argue?"

He chuckled and tugged her nearer still, wrapping his arms about her to cuddle her as close as he could manage. "Hold onto that thought, my dear. I'm sure you're going to argue plenty as we go on from here. But that's all right, Marguerite. I like you feisty. And I'm tough; I can take it. Now," he smoothed her dark hair as he felt her begin to relax wearily against his broad chest. "How about a little practice: Care to answer a question?"

Cautiously, Marguerite lifted her head from his chest to meet his unwavering gaze, and nodded once. Roxton dropped a kiss on her forehead, pleased that she hadn't tensed up again at the hint of prying, or tried to put him off with the justifiable excuse of exhaustion.

"Why were you so spooked in that cave? I don't think I've ever seen you so rattled." He watched her closely, open curiosity mixed with concern in his warm green eyes. "Even before I lost my temper you were jumpy, and afterwards you were…" he paused for lack of a good description.

"Afterwards, I was totally paranoid," she admitted with a rueful sigh, slipping her own arms about his waist and nestling her cheek against his broad shoulder. "I don't know what it was, John. From the moment I read those Celtic runes on the door – 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here'. I had this odd feeling that I was going to die beyond that doorway, that I was about to face a very unpleasant death. I know it sounds foolish, but I couldn't shake it, especially after we found the tomb and the woman with the same birthmark as mine."

She shivered at the vivid memory, the fearful presentiment rising all over again. She huddled into Roxton's comforting embrace, gathering strength from his presence in an effort to shake off the eerie premonition. After all, they'd escaped the cave; it hadn't become her tomb as she'd so feared. It was over. John would think she was only being ridiculous. Leaned comfortably against him, she tilted her head enough to glance up from beneath her lashes so she could judge his reaction.

He wasn't smirking at her confession and her obviously renewed fear, which she was sure he must've noticed. "I was afraid while we were trapped down there, too," was all he said, giving her a reassuring hug. He saw the flicker of relief at his tactful reply before she smiled and relaxed fully in his arms. Thoughtfully, as he braced himself to maintain balance for both of them, he filed this foreboding of Marguerite's away for future reference. If her instinct said the place was dangerous to her, then he'd see to it that she stayed far away from it. "It was natural to be frightened back there, my love. It's not a weakness you need to hide from me, or from anyone else. Anyone would've been scared." He smoothed her thick dark hair gently back over her slim shoulders.

As the warmth of his body spread through her, soothing away the last of her shivers and tensions, she confessed a little shyly, "It was better when you were with me, holding me close like this." Her head resting against his shoulder, her eyelids drifting lower, she sighed, "I always feel safer near you, John. There's just something about you…"

Touched by this admission, he kissed the top of her head, arms tightening about her again in delight. If he hadn't been so aware of exactly how weary his Marguerite was, he would've begun more amorous pursuits. "Maybe I should escort you to your room, m'lady, so we can get some rest," he suggested.

"Mm. Rest sounds lovely," she murmured, already more than half-asleep. She didn't object when he scooped her gently into his arms and carried her down to her bedroom. She simply relaxed in his strong embrace and let herself drift. She really was incredibly tired . . . "John?"

"Yes?" He settled her gently on her bed and tugged off her boots for her, unsurprised that she wasn't objecting to his presumption. Truth was, it was amazing that she'd stayed on her feet this long. The day had been strenuous even for him, and the gas in the cave had affected Marguerite's health much more than it had his stronger constitution. And it wasn't only the coal gas that had depleted her energy; her emotions – and his ill-timed, ill-considered temper tantrum – had put her through the wringer today as well. It would probably take her days to recover from the combined physical and mental trials of being trapped in that accursed cave.

Roxton shook his head, marveling as he remembered his alarm when he'd realized how much trouble the slim brunette was having simply catching a breath as they descended into the water pit in the cave. And yet she'd let him lead her down, where the gas had appeared to be even more deeply gathered, trusting him despite her fear, her fragile self-control, and her failing lungs.

Marguerite didn't even open her eyes now, lying completely pliant as John removed the gun belt and knife sheath from her slim waist. Her voice was no more than a faint breath of sound, but he heard the whispered words that were her last conscious thought. "I love you."

Arrested by the simple statement, he blinked, staring down at Marguerite's peaceful countenance. Then, with a broad triumphant grin, John placed her boots against the wall, hung her weapons over the back of her chair, and sat down beside her on the bed. "Goodnight, my love," he whispered. "Sleep well. Pleasant dreams."

He pressed his lips to her forehead once more before he bent over and tugged off his own boots. With a weary sigh that unconsciously echoed hers, he stretched out beside Marguerite on her narrow bed.

The skittish beauty mustn't wake up alone in the morning, when there might be time to re-establish those walls she habitually kept around her heart. She'd told him she loved him, and she'd accepted his idea for helping her to re-learn expressing her true feelings. He had no intention of allowing her to take a step backwards if she woke alone and uncertain.

So he wouldn't give her time to be alone just yet; he'd stay with his beloved until he was more certain that she wasn't going to try to protect either herself or him by hiding her heart away again.

When he considered how far she'd come already, he couldn't help but marvel. What she'd needed to do and be for most of her life to maintain her sanity and to stay alive, all alone, would've been beyond possibility for most people. But she'd managed it without a single person at her side… at least until these past three years, when she'd found herself here with the other explorers, no longer alone in her quest for survival and for answers about herself. His Marguerite had faced – was still facing! – a genuine struggle to find some balance between the old, cold hard realities of her life and her new desire to belong to this little "family".

Every new tidbit he'd learned about her past had helped him understand her distant persona a fraction more. Various little clues – like her familiarity with "Winnie" – had led him to suspect that she'd had some involvement with wartime underground work. Because Roxton had served in the Intelligence unit during the Great War himself, he'd had enough experience to grasp the challenge Marguerite was going through after living most of her life in that dark and dangerous world where survival meant allowing no one close. But even after learning recently that she'd actually been far more a part of that shadowy world than he'd ever suspected – Parsifal, of all the uncanny coincidences! – he hadn't fully realized what was happening deep inside his lady until today when she'd denied having emotions at all. Her use of the phrase "calculated responses", along with her sad and harsh self-evaluation that she possessed only "poor imitations of feelings I once knew how to express", had brought it all into sudden clarity for him.

Well, now that everything was out in the open, he'd be able to help his brave lady change those old calculated responses. Together they'd find ways to free her to be the charming woman he knew her to be, the one who had so much love to give. And he'd protect her from sliding - or being dragged - back into that old lifestyle. Neither an outside force nor Marguerite's own fears would separate them now, not if Lord John Roxton had anything to say about the matter. He would allow absolutely nothing to come between them now that she'd finally admitted their love.

Marguerite stirred a little, brow creasing as something troubled her dreams. He drew her close in concern, then smiled as her forehead smoothed. She curled her supple body up against his, as she had in the cave, once more comforted by his warmth and strength.

Lord John Roxton relaxed, too, and closed his own eyes with a contented smile playing about his lips. Everyone in the treehouse was safe and well, and his Marguerite was sleeping in his arms. All in all, to quote one of Marguerite's favorite sayings . . . Could this day get any better?

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End file.
